


The Last Measure of Devotion

by ShanleenKinnJaskey



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Amputation, Chefs, Iraq, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, paraplegics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanleenKinnJaskey/pseuds/ShanleenKinnJaskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio is a PTSD-ridden amputee returning from the war in Iraq. He expects to spend the rest of his life in an endless loop of avoiding loud noises, adjusting to civilian life, and playing guitar at his friend Francis's restaurant, but too bad the rude yet fascinating chef Lovino Vargas didn't get the memo. Brutally breaking Antonio out of a cycle of depression and bringing him back to reality, could the mysterious Lovino, who seems to be keeping secrets of his own, be Antonio’s savior?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myfivemeters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfivemeters/gifts), [TheGoliathBeetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoliathBeetle/gifts), [emilybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=emilybarnes).



_"And now that I've tried everything_

_I'll numb the pain_

_'Til I'm made of stone_

_It's never enough_

_It's never enough_

_It's never enough_

_I'll numb the pain_

_'Til I am made of stone..."_

_-Evanescence,_ Made of Stone

 

Silence.

Nothing but silence.

* * *

Everything explodes around Antonio, and the very air burns. He can't breathe, can't see, can't feel. There is nothing but Armageddon as his leg is crushed by flying shrapnel and he is pinned down.  There is no way for him to get out, no way to escape.

In this moment he knows he is going to die.

* * *

_"You're a man, Antonio, and real men are fighters. Real men don't die in their sleep, lying comfortably in their bed- real men die fighting. It's how your grandfather died, and it's how you will as well, if you're lucky. This whole 'art' thing isn't a fit career for a Carriedo man- it's for a pouf."_

_Antonio looks blankly at his father, not reacting as his dreams are crushed and his aspirations denied. He's used to it, used to being forced into a persona chosen for him, so he doesn't even bother to argue. He gave that up a long time ago._

* * *

 "Don't leave us, Toni," the young albino soldier barks as he lifts his friend's broken, bloody body, "You know it would destroy Franny if you died. Hang in there." He is trying to be strong, but there is a tear in his eye as he couches down and runs away, trying to protect his precious cargo. 

Far away in the distance gunshots go off.

* * *

_"All lovely things break, Antonio," his father says as they stand over his mother's grave. Antonio is five, and this will become his first memory, something that will stay with him his entire life._

_"All lovely things break, and they're not always worth putting back together."_

* * *

Pain.

Antonio wakes up to a world molded out of pain and born out of hurt.

"Welcome back to the awesome world of the living, Toni," a brash German voice greets him, breaking through the red haze of agony, "We missed you. Good news- you're going home."

Home? Antonio doesn't know how to feel about that. He doesn't know what home is anymore...

Wait, why is he going home? He's fine, just in pain, and he'll be back to normal in no time. He can't disappoint his Padre. He can't be sent home, because this is the only way he can prove to his Padre that he is a Carriedo man, not some pouf.

"Por qué?" slips out between cracked, dry lips, and thank god he's spent enough time around Gil, who he's been best friends with along with Francis (who stayed back home for his fiancée Jeanne) since all three were in sixth grade, that Gil knows basic Spanish and understands what Antonio’s sluggish mind is asking.

"The falling debris crushed your leg and we had to amputate it, Toni. _Es tut mir leid_."

No.

It couldn't be possible. 

But it was.

* * *

 ***

* * *

_"Lovi, I want to go to the Pizzaria today! Per favore?"_

_"God dammit, Feli, you won't fucking let up, will you? Go on ahead and I'll follow you in a minute."_

_"Grazie, fratello!"_

_A minute later a crash echoes._

_"FELI!"_

_Only silence._

* * *

 

"LOVINO!" Francis shouts from the other side of the kitchen, "WE NEED AN ORDER OF YOUR SPECIAL IN ONE MINUTE!"

Lovino rolls his eyes and sprinkles a bit of pepper over top of the plate of pasta. He's done already, and he swings around and delivers the plate into Francis's hand. "Here you go, damn frog."

The co-owner (along with his wife), who also works as a waiter, smiles smoothly at Lovino's sharp tongue and spins out of the kitchen.

* * *

_Lovino walks to the restaurant. He needs a new job to pay for Feli's college payments as well as his disability._

_He's heard about an opening for a chef at this restaurant._ Joi de Vivre _, it's called, and it's a restaurant with food from across Europe with an emphasis on France. Good- Lovino's specialty is Italian._

_He comes up to the door, where a CLOSED sign hangs, and tugs off one of his gloves. He stamps his feet to warm up and reminds himself to tone it down for the interview. He needs to make sure not to curse, no matter how much the owner irritates him. Then he steps forward and knocks on the door._

_A man with long, luxurious blond hair comes to the door and opens it with practiced grace. "You are the new applicant,_ non _?" He asks, winking a blue eye at Lovino. Lovino resists the urge to snort and instead surveys the man, who's dressed impeccably in the latest French fashions, a casual blue blazer, white pants, a red silk shirt, and a silver silk scarf. This must be Francis Bonnefoy, the owner of the restaurant._

_"Ciao," he says, sticking out a hand with a roll of the eyes._

_Francis raises an eyebrow. "Now this is interesting. Anyway, come in, let's get this interview over with before the customers show up."_

* * *

Lovino swipes his card through the sign out machine, ready to leave and go home after another long day, and grabs his jacket when he hears a shout and a crash.

Like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head, memories assault him.

_Blood. Twisted limbs. Feli, unable to move._

Don't think about it. Don't let yourself remember. 

"Dammit!" He mutters under his breath, dropping his jacket as he runs for Francis's office, where he heard the crash.

He reaches it and finds Francis frozen with his hands to his mouth, phone on the ground next to the desk. The normally suave restaurant owner is grinning like a lunatic, his blue eyes wide and full of unbridled excitement.

"Toni's coming home," Francis whispers, and Lovino can hear a depth of emotion in the frog's voice he's never heard before. There's hope, and trepidation, and sorrow, and happiness, and anticipation, and a whole wealth of other feelings.


	2. Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so not my best, but it's been sitting around all week and I've been trying to work on my novel. So here's some Spamano (ish), please enjoy it!
> 
> As you guys can probably tell, I've been reading a lot of spinyfruit, theGoliathBeetle, and myfivemeters lately (because Spamano is LIFE), and I've gotten a lot of inspiration from them. So thank you guys for making me cry (a lot. Like, do you know how many tissues I've gone through?), and this story's for you.
> 
> Oh, and the lack of punctuation during the dream sequence is on purpose. Antonio's thoughts are flashing by so quickly that he can't slow down and go us on one thing at a time.

_"She's talking to angels, counting the stars_

_Making a wish on a passing car_

_She's dancing with strangers, falling apart_

_Waiting for Superman to pick her up_

_In his arms yeah, in his arms yeah_

_Waiting for Superman..._ _"_

 _-Daughtry_ , Waiting for Superman

 

Antonio _clunks_  out of the airport terminal, grimacing at the task he can see ahead of him. He isn't yet used to his lack of balance, and the pathway to the exit is long, crowded with loud, swarming, pounding, throngs of-

 _Shut up and focus,_ he reminded himself, forcing back the urge to curl up into a ball and protect himself from the falling bomb that he somehow knew, in the back of his mind, wasn't there. The pounding is not a truck ambling across a desert road, the talking is not the officer calling out instructions, and he is not about to die.

"TONI, MI AMI!" A familiar accented voice shouts, and Antonio opens his eyes, realizing as he does so that he'd scrunched them closed tight without realizing it. He looks around and catches sight of a butter-yellow head bobbing through the crowd, quickly followed by an auburn one. The blonde head soon emerges, and Antonio sees that it's Francis, his old friend.

"Hola, Francis!" Antonio calls out, bracing his right crutch against his side, leaning on it heavily while waving with his right hand. His left he keeps gripping his other crutch, keeping a firm grasp on his only support. That's what his crutch is- a link to sanity, the only thing keeping him from falling.

Francis envelops him in a hug, and Antonio notices with a grin that his friend is being careful not to jostle his crutches. Francis has always been dependable like that, easy to count on to think of the little things.

"So this is the famous Spanish bastard you can't fucking stop yammering about, _si_?" a rich voice says, and Antonio looks behind his friend to find a shorter auburn man with a grimace on his face. Normally Antonio would dismiss him out of hand, as he can't bear negativity in anyone but himself, but then the man glares at him and Antonio sees the deepest pair of eyes he's ever seen, and suddenly he's falling. Falling into pools of liquid gold, deep and dark and dangerous. Oh, they're not your traditional handsome or beautiful, as Antonio's pretty sure that if looks could kill he'd be dead ten ways to Sunday, but they burn into his soul in a way he's never experienced before. They are mirrors and windows at the same time, and Antonio drinks in their light, their depths captivating him. They're sharp, deep, _lovely_ -

_"All lovely things break, Antonio."_

He flinches, barely catching Francis's next words as the auburn man picks up the small, battered suitcase of personal items that Antonio has brought back from Iraq. "Allons-y, Toni. We brought Lovino's car, as Jeanne is using mine. She told me to say she's sorry she couldn't make it, but school doesn't let out until two and those high-schoolers needed every bit of French II they could learn. Hope you don't mind dropping by the restaurant for a little while on the way home- Lovino has to go pick up his brother at the local college."

Lovino- such a perfect name for those eyes. A strange, old name, with a certain _flavor_ to it.

Antonio nods to Francis, steeling himself for the trip through the airport and through traffic. As he starts forward, he doesn't notice Lovino's appraising glance at his crutches and the stump of his leg that's left, or how Lovino's eyes widen slightly at the sight. He misses how Lovino's lips thin, pressing together into a thin line as the Italian turns and follows Antonio and Francis.

* * *

Lovino does not know what to make of the half-Spanish amputee whose name so obviously carries such weight among the employees and employers of _Joi de Vivre_. The names of Antonio Lorenzo Henrique Fernandez-Carriedo and Gilbert Otto Beilschmidt are legendary around the restaurant, their names treated as if they belong to demigods and heroes, and to see how mortal this one has been made is...interesting, to say the least- not at all what he expected out of the fabled Carriedo warrior.

He directs Francis and Antonio to the car as he listens to Francis blabbering on about something meaningless in Antonio’s ear. It's actually a bit amusing to watch the normally suave, put-together half-Frenchman turn into an excited schoolgirl in the presence of an old friend. So it seems the famous Antonio does have superpowers of a sort, then, if his mere presence can send the collected Francis into this state of disarray.

Lovino gets to the van and clicks the door-opener, unlocking the doors. He doesn't worry about how the cluttered state of the car will be received by the new arrival, or how the where Feli's chair normally sits, a spot situated in the back of the van for easy wheelchair access; he just sets the suitcase in the back, barely caring as Francis escorts Antonio into the back seat. Walking up to the driver's seat, he checks his watch for the time. Feli should be done with class for the day and halfway through his study date with Monika, the potato-eating Engineering Major who has somehow managed to snag Lovino's little brother's heart. Looks like he'll have just enough time after dropping Francis off by the shop to get to the college on time.

Francis- Now there's a friend he never thought he would make in a million years. After all, they have nothing in common besides a love for well-cooked food, but somehow, layered beneath insults (Lovino) and mock-flirting (Francis- god knows he loves Jeanne more than anything), they'd come to be able to somewhat rely on each other.

Well, enough that he'd allow Francis to borrow the van- with Lovino still driving, of course. 

He steps up into the driver's seat and turns the car on. Glancing back, he sees that Antonio is buckled in behind him and that Francis is heading around to the passenger seat. When the soldier catches him looking, he gives Lovino a grin. Something about it seems a bit forced to Lovino, and he doesn't know exactly why. Maybe it's because those green eyes are only half-hiding a sheen of pain.

"Gracias for the help, Lovino," Antonio says.

Lovino's bristles at the words, and his eyes narrow. "I don't need any fucking thanks, Carriedo."

"Now, mon ami, there's no need for that type of language," Francis admonishes as he closes the door behind him, and Lovino catches a familiar mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

"I can say whatever the hell I want, Bonnefoy!" Lovino protests, sliding into their familiar argument as he pulls away from their parking spot, knowing Francis has already buckled up from the distinctive _click_ he heard earlier as Francis was talking.

* * *

_There is nothing but bullets and fire as Antonio runs into the town with Gilbert and their fellow soldiers at his side, charging in with nothing but a thin rain of gunfire to mask their ambush._

_Antonio can barely breathe, can't see worth anything, and is the roar of battle is deafening. He's fighting, shooting off bullet after bullet, impervious to the shrapnel falling around him and the cues of pain and agony, when suddenly the soldier next to him goes down. He looks down, and it's Gilbert, no, Francis- no the face is flickering too much to tell wait it's stopping who is it wait who's that he can't tell-_

_It's Lovino, golden eyes glassy and lifeless._

_Everything stops for a moment as Antonio stares at the dead body, and then everything explodes and it's just pain pain pain-_

Antonio sits bolt upright in his bed, sweat dripping from his body. He's had that nightmare many times before, but it had always been Francis or Gilbert that he dreamed about finding dead. He'd only met Lovino for a moment, then listened to him argue with Francis for a half hour today. What makes him dream about the man like this, afraid of him dying?

Antonio has no answer, but he leans back down and tries to sleep. He has no success, as every time he closes his eyes the image of Lovino's dead face paints itself across the back of eyelids, wreathed by dirt and fire.

_"All lovely things break, Antonio."_

* * *

Days later Lovino is driving to his house, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel in frustration as the wipers swipe the rain from the window shield, when he sees the man stumble and begin to fall. He's not exactly sure what prompts him to park the van, jump out, and try to help, but when he sees it's Antonio, the returning war hero from the other day, he just grits his teeth and reaches out a hand to the fallen ex-soldier. Antonio tries to wave him off, muttering something about doing it himself, but Lovino sees how the man's hands are trembling on the grip of his crutches as he tries to keep himself steady, as well as the fact that Antonio's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and he grumbles, "No, you're not going to make it on your own, damn Carriedo."

Antonio looks straight at him, brown curls plastered against his tanned face, and Lovino can tell that he's trying to smile and convince the Italian that he's okay, but it's not working, with the man's trembling body and tired eyes. "I'm fine, Lovino. Just slipped a bit- nothing major. Por favor, you can move on. I can get home well enough."

Lovino snorts and grabs Antonio's left arm, righting the soldier. "No, you're fucking not alright. You have a chance of getting pneumonia in this weather. What were fucking thinking, walking in the rain in just a t-shirt?"

Antonio raises an eyebrow even as he breaks out into a new round of shivers. "You did the same, Señor."

"Well, that's different!" Lovino sputters while noticing that yes, Antonio's right- he's only wearing a t-shirt, having left his jacket in the car, "I didn't plan to rescue a soldier on the way home!" He pauses for a moment,  rubbing his arms for warmth, then continues, "Dammit, Carriedo, I'm trying to help you out. Do you need a ride?" Suddenly Lovino realizes that he is actually being nice and nearly groans. He doesn't need this sympathy for a near-stranger- he only needs to worry about two people, and everyone else can just fall to the wayside. Damn Francis, bringing him out of his protective shell! 

But suddenly, the tension leaves Antonio's shoulders and he kind of slumps forward a bit, leaning heavily on his crutches. His face collapses, his attempt at a smile disintegrating into weariness. "Okay, si. Just don't tell Francis, okay? He thinks I'm back to normal, that I've had very little problem transitioning. I don't want him to worry about me- he has more important things to be concerned with than an old friend."

Lovino nods, though damned concern spikes in his chest. He hurriedly (and maybe a bit roughly) helps Antonio to the van and into the passenger seat, not even thinking as he performs some of the same motions he does everyday helping Feli into his wheelchair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I just needed to publish this.
> 
> So maybe some PTSD! Spain next chapter, eh, my darlings? Comment your opinions.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or comments if you liked it, and constructive criticism if you don't. 
> 
> Should I continue?


End file.
